


The Problem of Reciprocation and Other Weird Complexes.

by sincerelymendacious



Category: Psychonauts (Video Games)
Genre: Dry-Humping, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Sex Dreams, TW: Blood, TW: injuries, Vaginal Sex, i am not a psychologist i just play one on tv, more tags to come, nipple-teasing, pseudo-psychological wankery, psychological horror?, sex dream gone weird, tw: gruesome imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22926664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sincerelymendacious/pseuds/sincerelymendacious
Summary: A strange series of surreal, delightfully distressing dreams plague the peaceful sleep of super-star Psychonaut Agents Sasha Nein and Milla Vodello.
Relationships: Sasha Nein/Milla Vodello
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	The Problem of Reciprocation and Other Weird Complexes.

**Author's Note:**

> Special Thanks goes out to several friends- Kai, TinyGryphon, Cait and Stakarbage- who listened a I screamed about this fic, pointed out several of my stupid errors, helped me with ideas and with the title of this work. I really appreciate it!
> 
> The point of this fic is obviously porn, but it's also an outlet for me to be weird and perverse and vaguely menacing. I feel it best to warn that there are points that are not going to be pretty, and that even this first chapter has content some readers might find gross/squicky/distressing. Tags will be updated with necessary trigger warnings for each chapter, so please check those before reading. For the rest of you, please enjoy.

“This is appalling,” Sasha grumbled as he helped Milla through the doorway of the safehouse. Though, referring to the place as a ‘house’ was far too generous. It was more like a safeshed; a small, two-room structure sticking out of the expansive Nebraska plains like an ugly brick boil and consisting only of a cramped, motel-room like living space and tiny bathroom. It was also filthy-the bed was unmade, the carpet was covered in a distressing assortment of stains, and there was an open pizza box on the counter, a group of flies buzzing around the cheese stuck to the cardboard. “Who was the last agent that stayed here?” He sniffed, wrinkling his nose at the old sock smell permeating the room.

A sigh from the woman beside him. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady for someone who had small chunks of glass and other debris lodged into her left thigh. “Whoever it was may not have had time to clean up before they left.” Her right side leaned into him to prevent herself from brushing up against the much-too-large bed set a few feet away from the bathroom door. 

Sasha was glad that her injury was not on the leg currently pressed against him, for he had quite enough of her blood (along with dust, ash and smoke) decorating his person. He snuck a glance down at Milla’s leg, then quickly away from the remains of the green tights (now splotched dark red) she held against her thigh. “They could have at least thrown the pizza box out,” he said while telekinetically opening the bathroom door. 

The bathroom was passable in terms of cleanliness. Small though, barely enough room for the toilet, sink, and tub. Sasha supposed that he should have been grateful that he was not stepping into a disaster zone, but he was still skeptical. “I’m not certain that this is the best place to tend to an open wound.” 

Milla detached herself from his side and floated into the bathroom, noticeably more wobbly than usual. “It will have to do,” she said as she sat down on the edge of the tub. “The nearest base is hours from here, and I don’t want to go to a hospital for this.” Her tone implied that she found Sasha’s complaints regarding the safehouse’s sanitation both amusing and annoying. “My hair is a wreck,” she said, swiping her fingers through the dark, tangled strands. “I would not want anyone seeing me like this, I don’t think.” 

The corners of his mouth twitched. Sasha forced them down into a flat line before they could become a smile. “I hardly think that this is the time for levity,” he said. Truthfully, he was relieved, for she must not have believed the situation to be that serious if she was making jokes. 

Milla shrugged his ill-humor off. “Is there ever a right time for you?” she teased as she removed the tights, wincing as the nylon peeled away from her skin. “Oh,” she said once the cut was exposed. 

It was not a pretty sight. The cut was about half the width of her thigh, surrounded by dried blood and stuck bits of dirt. It had stopped bleeding and did not look to be too deep, although it was hard for Sasha to tell from where he stood observing it. The bigger issue were the pieces trapped within it- they would have to be removed from the cut before it could be bandaged. Milla had been able to get the larger chunks of shrapnel out while at the scene of the explosion (with a series of quick, nauseating yanks) but hadn’t attempted to take out the smaller bits while they drove to the safehouse. 

Sasha had to admire her composure. Riding over that bumpy road for an hour-and-a-half had to have been unpleasant, and yet she’d endured with relatively good humor, not once losing her usual self-possession. Meanwhile he’d gone on about one trifle after another- the slowness of the Motherlobe’s response to his telepathic messages, the sorry state of Nebraska’s highways, the utter pointlessness of the ordeal they’d just gone through- really, just any little thing that had come to poke at his mind. Few things made him ramble more than the feeling of being utterly useless, and there had been nothing that he could have done while in the car to help Milla with her wound. 

There was not much he could do for her now that they were out of it either. “I’m hoping that isn’t as bad as it looks,” Sasha offered, feeling foolish immediately after doing so. 

“It isn’t,” Milla answered as she straddled the edge of the tub. Her position put her injured leg on the inside and the good leg on the outside, her bare foot resting on the tiled floor. She’d taken her boots off so that she could remove her tights and staunch the bleeding, and had not bothered to put them back on. Her long, high-colored jacket (one of the few garments she owned that was not garishly colored) had also been shed, leaving her looking somewhat bare in the pink and lilac swirl-patterned dress. The long, lean length of her leg caught his attention, his eyes roving up and down it. Her toenails, he noticed, were painted, a green flower against an orange base. _Same as her manicure…_

Sasha snapped himself out of his idiotic oggling. _Highly inappropriate,_ he chastised himself, forcing his gaze away. It landed on the mirror above the sink, so he opened it, finding the first aid kit alongside an assortment of shave gels and deodorants. “Do you need this?” he asked, impressed with the increasing stupidity of his inquiries. _The explosion must have damaged my ability to think before I speak. Hopefully it is only temporary._

Luckily for him, Milla was too distracted to notice or care. “Put it there.” She gestured to the closed toilet seat with one hand while directing the shower hose into the other. “Please,” she added after a second, unnecessarily in his opinion. He did not hold terseness against her in this circumstance. 

He did as commanded, setting the kit down onto the closed lid. The shower hissed, streams of water pouring forth from the head. “Do you, ah-” He fumbled briefly over his words when Milla slid the hem of her dress up slightly to prevent it from getting wetter than it had to. “Do you require any further assistance?” 

The gasp that burst from Milla’s lips when when the water hit her cut should not have sounded as loud as it did. “No, I can handle things from here,” she replied, moving her wrist in a small circle in order to hit every part of the mess that was her thigh. “You should take care of yourself, darling. I’ll be fine.” 

There really was not that much for Sasha to take care of. The blast had left him relatively unharmed, save for a few scraps and bruises. His clothing was torn in places, stained in others (there was a large tear in the left sleeve of his jacket- good thing that it wasn’t one of his nicer ones) but overall, he had fared much better than Milla. 

Since it was more productive than standing in the doorway doing nothing, Sasha went over to the sink to clean himself up. He washed the dust off of his hands and face, fixed the part in his hair, and tried not to let his gaze linger on Milla’s reflection for longer than a few seconds. There was little else he could do after that. A more thorough cleaning would have to be done in the tub that Milla currently occupied. 

He must have suffered an injury to his head that somehow did not cause any physical pain. What else, other than a severe rattling of the brain, could explain the image that had accompanied that thought; of him in Milla together in the shower, her gently scrubbing the remnants of their last mission off of his skin. “I’m going to try to contact headquarters,” he said, and then hastily quit the room before Milla could look up, closing the door with more force than it warranted. 

Sasha did not immediately attempt to establish a connection with the Long Distance Telepathic Communication Specialist (an elaborate way to refer to an intern with nothing else to do) assigned to their case. He needed some time to sort out the events of the last few hours; to place the relevant details of the mission at the forefront of his mind and shove everything else into the storage closet at the back of it, where it would not interfere with the important information he needed to impart. As he did this, he paced the short length of the room, keeping both hands behind his back so that they would not fidget aimlessly as he walked. Physically, he felt quite agitated, his body in a jittery state; ready to jump into action at the barest shift in his surroundings. _Merely the remnants of adrenaline wearing off. It will fade in time._

When he felt fully prepared, he focused his telepathy and linked himself up to the mind of Intern Partucci. _This is Agent Nein, reporting in from Synapse 372._

Partucci answered with a sleepy, _Oh, hey. What’s up?_ , which in Sasha’s opinion was unprofessional but not irritating enough to expend the effort on calling out. 

Sasha explained what was up, sticking to a general overview- the finer details could be left to the write-up, as they would probably just be forgotten or improperly relayed by this guy. The rundown was as follows: at about 8:00 am this morning, Sasha and Milla infiltrated the Kansas Branch of the Inoxia Collective, a very strange and vaguely menacing group of scientists devoted to studying what they referred to as ‘negative spaces between the walls of the psyche.’ They were not yet classified as a terrorist group, but the focus of their research went to places that could either threaten the Psychonauts (if it should fall into the wrong hands) or benefit them (if it should fall into their hands). By assuming the identities of two senior scientists, they were able to freely wander about the base and collect the gathered data (stored on floppy disks), claiming they were taking the research to a sister branch in Quebec. 

Things had gone well up until around 1:30 pm, when a scientist native to the Ottawa province noticed that the French he and Milla spoke lacked Quebecois accents. The truth about them soon came out, the alarms were raised, and then a firefight ensued. At some point, either on purpose or accidently, the self-destruct button was hit, forcing everyone to flee. Milla and Sasha had escaped just in the nick of time by jumping out of the 14th story window. Landing safely had been a team effort- Milla had used levitation to slow their descent as best she could, while Sasha had shielded them from the impact of the fall. 

They had gathered themselves up and after a quick bodily assessment, proceded to their getaway car (miraculously undamaged by falling slabs of concrete). They arrived at the safe house at around 3:49 pm. 

_We still have the floppy disks,_ Sasha concluded. _They appear to be in decent condition._ He cast a quick glance at the bathroom door. _Agent Vodello sustained a cut on her left leg but she does not believe it to be anything serious._

_Uh-huh_. At no point during Sasha’s report had Partucci expressed anything resembling interest. Clairvoyance revealed that he was doodling some kind of half-man, half-tiger creature on the paper he was supposed to be recording Sasha’s message on.

Sasha frowned. _We do not believe that we have been pursued by hostile I.C. agents. We plan to remain here for the night and to head back to the Motherlobe early next morning._

_Hm, sweet._

A small stretch of silence passed in which no thoughts were exchanged. Sasha felt his annoyance with the intern grow with each second that passed. _You will inform headquarters of our whereabouts, correct?_

Partucci began shading in the tiger-man’s hat. _Yup._

The absent manner with which the intern thought made Sasha suspect that he didn’t have any idea what he was ‘yupping’ to. _It is very important that you tell the Lesser Head what I’ve just told you. If she is not aware that the mission was successful, she may jump to certain conclusions regarding our status._

_Doesn’t she prefer to be called the Second Head?_ Partucci thought back, only just now giving the conversation his full attention. _There was a memo about it, telling us not to call her the Lesser Head._

A tic appeared in Sasha’s jaw. _I have not read that one. Will you please make sure that she is updated on our mission?_

Partucci was himself beginning to become irritated. _I already said that I would. But if you’re so worried that I won’t do my job, why don’t you tell her yourself?_

Sasha did not think that this lowly intern needed to know that he and Hollis were in the middle of a budget dispute and not currently on thinking terms. _Agent Nein out,_ he dismissed shortly, cutting the link. He blew out a sigh, racked his hand through his hair, and then sank down on the edge of the bed. He indulged himself in a sulk over the intern’s rude behavior, crossing his arms over his chest and worrying that Partucci would not pass on his report just to be spiteful. 

His thoughts did not linger on Partucci for long, drifting instead to the part of the incident that he had very deliberately omitted. It had been the direct aftermath of the explosion, a moment so brief that it had not been worth touching up on. That Sasha’s mind kept jumping to it was just further evidence that he’d sustained damage to his mental facilities. 

He had told Partucci that he and Milla had managed to safely land despite being propelled a considerable distance at a very high speed. What he had not told Partucci was the position in which they had landed; with him flat on his back and her splayed out on top of him. Nor the strange scene that followed, in which the smoke, the still falling chunks of building and machinery, and the dazed stumbling of the escaped scientists had fallen away. They must have been out of their senses, for that was only reasonable explanation as to why they had wasted precious seconds laying there and staring at each other like fools in spite of all of the danger that surrounded them. His glasses had been flung off, yet he remembered how clearly he’d been able to see her face. Her eyes, bright green pupils dilated with adrenaline. Cheeks slightly flushed, the red still visible despite the specks of dirt clinging to her skin. Lips parted, as though to take in air, though it seemed that her breath was caught in her throat. Then, absurdly, those lips curving into a smile, unexpectedly beautiful against the broken, waste-strewn landscape. 

He had not been able to stop himself from smiling back stupidly. Had not been able to stop himself from brushing the strands of hair sticking to her mouth away. Sasha’s finger’s had been dirty, and they left a dark smudge from the corner of her lip to the edge of her jaw. 

She’d let out a gasp, one that Sasha guiltily recalled as sounding more obscene than it probably had been in reality. That was when the cut had been discovered, having somehow gone unnoticed until physical pain had made Milla aware of its existence. Blood poured forth from it, trailing down the slope of her thigh, a red river on a green nylon background. Millla had moved off of him before it could stain his slacks, thus breaking them out of whatever stupor had held them. 

Abruptly, Sasha stood up. This was not something worth dwelling upon, especially not with Milla only a room away. He took three steps over to the bathroom and knocked on the door. “I have informed headquarters of our current status,” he said without opening it.

A vocalization was made in response. Sasha could not tell if it was a grunt of acknowledgement or pain. Uneasiness twisted within him at the idea of the latter. Logically he knew that Milla was not badly hurt and more than capable of tending to herself, but it still bothered him to know that she was in pain and that there was nothing he could do to alleviate it. Discomfort with his own concern forced another complaint from his mouth. “The intern I spoke with- I believe his name is Partucci- was not as attentive as he could have been. I am not confident that he will be speaking to the Lesser Head anytime soon.” 

A faint rummaging could be heard through the door. “I’m sure he’ll do what he needs to do,” Milla said, “but if you’re that worried about it, you can always just get in touch with Hollis directly.” 

Sasha only barely managed to keep himself from grinding his teeth, knowing that Milla had not made the suggestion to annoy him intentionally. “He was very rude to me,” he said petulantly.

“Was he?”

“I’d report him but he’d probably get promoted for it,” Sasha continued sourly.

“Oh, Sasha.” The sigh that followed was not sympathetic in the least. “You know that isn’t true.” 

There was an edge of impatience in her tone. “Well, perhaps not,” Sasha conceded, chastented. “But he was still very aggravating to deal with.” He blew his bangs out of his face, feeling childish. “Is everything going well in there?” 

A small intake of breath. It was tempting to go into her mind and see how she was doing for himself, but he restrained himself. Milla was the one person whose privacy he respected enough not to use clairvoyance on in that manner. “I’m alright. It’s going to take some time to get it all out, that’s all.” 

Sasha grimaced. “Is there anything I can do?” He was not sure why he asked; it wasn’t like he could grab a pair of tweezers and help.

Milla politely told him no. “Don’t you worry about me. Relax a little, I’m sure you’re tired.” 

There was always something about the way Milla reassured him, something as warm and comforting as an old blanket, that made him recall those few memories he had of his mother while she still lived. It was an association that he found more than a little troubling. “Let me know if there’s anything you need,” he said as he pushed away from the door to go do...he didn’t know what. Something else. 

_Our overnight bags are still in the car,_ he remembered. _I should go get them. Milla will probably want to change once she’s done bandaging the cut._ So he went out to retrieve them, taking the nasty old pizza box out with him (much to the consternation of the flies swarming around it). He came back into the room a few minutes later and set both of their bags on the bed. Then he changed his mind and took Milla’s bag over to the bathroom. “I’ve got your stuff,” he said as he knocked.

She said something in Portuguese. Sasha suspected it to both be a swear and directed at him. “What?”

“I’ve got your overnight bag,” Sasha repeated. “Do you want it?” 

“Oh. Ah, yes, put it in here.” The door opened, it’s outward swing stopped by his body. Sasha tossed the bag into the room, actively keeping his eyes off of Milla. “Thank you,” she said as he closed it. 

He lingered at the door, as though waiting for more. More what, though? A pat on the head? For her to heap praise upon him for doing a chore unasked? _Foolish,_ he thought, turning away. _I am not a child who needs validation for merely doing what he ought._

The room was, in his opinion, a wreck, so he set upon tidying the place up. He made the bed, checking for bed bugs and examining the sheets for stains. All was sufficiently clean, so he smoothed the blankets out and arranged the pillows, knowing that Milla would want to lay down once out of the bathroom. The kitchen had an assortment of dirty plates and glasses on it, so he took care of those as well, admittedly more for his own peace of mind than for Milla’s benefit. _How did they even get a pizza delivered here?_ he grumbled to Milla mentally as he rinsed a greasy plate off (with telekinesis- no way was he touching anything without rubber gloves). _Isn’t that a breach of security?_

_Didn’t we pass a town by on our way here?_ Milla thought back. _They probably picked it up on the way- ah!_

Sasha’s head jerked towards the door. _What is it?_

_Nothing. I dropped the tweezers._

Sasha made no further comment, not wishing to distract Milla further with more of his inane grousing. The dishes were soon done, and Sasha needed to find a new task to occupy himself. The state of the carpet was offensive to him personally, so he searched for a vacuum cleaner finding one hidden in one of the cupboards underneath the sink. Unfortunately, it was a small, handheld one, not at all appropriate for the scale of the mess. _It will have to do,_ Sasha thought, flicking the switch on. It came to life with a mechanical whir, oddly loud for its tiny size. _No wonder the place is so filthy. How can anyone be expected to adequately clean with only this?_

A few minutes passed with him guiding the vacuum around the bed with his telekinetic hand, choosing to focus on that spot because it was where Milla was most likely to go after emerging from the bathroom. He was aware that it looked ridiculous, the way it ran along the floor seemingly of its own accord, occasionally making clunking noises when it sucked up something large. _If Milla could see this she would laugh and tell me that I looked like a child with a remote control car._ He frowned, unsure why the thought of her being amused by his actions should send such a warmth spreading through him. _This is more efficient,_ he justified to his mental Milla. _I can clean up more space at a faster rate than if I vacuumed in the conventional way._

_Sasha._ As though summoned by his thoughts of her, Milla’s telepathic voice slid into his head. _Darling, could you please turn the vacuum off?_

Sasha obeyed, concern rising. _Is there something wrong?_ Was her injury more serious than she had originally thought? Or had she received some troubling news from the Motherlobe?

 _No, everything’s fine!_ she assured quickly. Tension released from Sasha’s shoulders. _I’m almost done, actually. It’s only, there is not so much rubbing alcohol left._

_Ah._ Sasha nodded in understanding. 

_There’s enough left for me, but it’ll all be out once I’m done. It would be...very rude to leave an empty one behind. So I was thinking maybe you could go out and get another bottle from the gas station that we passed?_

Sasha thought back to where he had seen that little Mobil, some thirty minutes south of their current location. _It would not be a difficult task to accomplish,_ he admitted, albeit hesitantly. The idea of leaving Milla alone in her wounded state really did not thrill him. 

Milla picked up on his reluctance. _It’s only fair, baby. We should restock it in case the next agents who come here need it,_ she thought. When that did not convince him, she added, _And I know that headquarters will reimburse you._

Sasha perked up at that, for there were few things he enjoyed more than forcing Hollis to give him money. _You will be fine here on your own?_ he thought as he put the vacuum back in the cupboard he had found it in. 

_Darling, this is a safehouse! I’ll be just fine!_ There was a note of relief in her tone- had she been that worried about the rubbing alcohol? Her consideration towards others was certainly admirable, especially since he didn’t think that such a thing would have crossed the minds of most of their colleagues. 

_Hm, yes. I will go then._ Sasha gave himself a brief once-over and supposed that he was presentable enough for the gas station employees. _Would you like anything else?_ he asked as he floated the keys into his hand. 

_Oh, um, no,_ she replied, sounding surprised by the question. _That’s all. Thank you though, I appreciate you asking._

_Alright. I should not be gone long. Contact me if you think of anything else._ And with that, he set off to complete his quest. 

* * *

The trip took a little over an hour to complete, the only real obstacle being the distance between the two points. There was as little traffic on the road as there was in the store, and Sasha was able to make his purchases without any trouble. 

It was as he was driving back with the rubbing alcohol, a pack of those awful Famous Amos cookies, and a full tank of gas (the receipt safely tucked into his jacket pocket) that the pointlessness of the errand dawned upon him. Headquarters did regular supply checks on all of the safehouses, restocking them as needed. All that Milla would have had to do was mention the depletion of medical supplies and it would have been taken care of. She certainly would have known this, for she followed protocol more strictly than he did (most of the time). 

Which meant that she had sent him out with some other motive in mind. 

Sasha hypothesized that it must have had something to do with him interrupting her several times as she was mending her cut, with the vacuum being the final straw. _She could have just told me that I was bothering her,_ he thought, glaring at the disco-ball shaped air freshener she had bought at a rest stop in Wichita. _Surely she knows that I do not take offense to honesty._

Perhaps she had recognized that he’d been doing the things that annoyed her to distract himself from his worry and hadn’t wanted to make things worse. _Completely unnecessary,_ he thought as he drove the car down the long dirt road that acted as a driveway. _There is no reason to spare my feelings in that manner._ He could admit, however, that having something to do had been better than sitting around the safehouse, useless as a shoe with a broken sole. Still, he was miffed at Milla for not being more direct, and at himself for not realizing the truth sooner. 

He had every intention of telling Milla that he had her figured out once he stepped into the safehouse. The little speech he’d come up with while walking to the door died on his lips when he discovered the ceiling lights dimmed to the lowest setting and Milla laying in the bed. Her face was turned away from him, but Sasha knew that she was asleep from her breathing, and from the way she did not stir as he crossed the room. 

Sasha did not at first do more than glance at her, placing the cookies on the table as he headed over to the bathroom. It was as clean as it had been when they had arrived, Milla having tidied it up before leaving. He opened the medicine cabinet and was somewhat relieved to find no rubbing alcohol within it. _At least she was being truthful about it having run out,_ he thought as he put the full bottle he had purchased next to the first aid kit and then shut the cabinet. 

After he left the bathroom, he stood at the foot of the bed and stared down at his sleeping partner, ostensibly to check up on the state of her injury. She was flat on her back, clad in one of the many oversized t-shirts she preferred to sleep in- this one was light blue and pilfered from somebody who had to be twice her size. The blanket covered most of her body, with only her left leg exposed to the air. The bandage around her thigh was properly applied; the crisp white gauze a stark but pleasing contrast to the smooth ochre skin it was wrapped around. It certainly was a better sight than the sticky mess of blood and filth it had been the last time he saw it. 

Sasha became aware that he’d been staring at her leg for far longer than he could justify. He cut his gaze away, but it did not divert from Milla like it should have, instead traveling upward. Her face was turned to the right, her cheek resting on the pillow. Long strands of silky black hair obscured most of her expression, but he could see that her features were relaxed, free of the strain of stress and pain that had haunted her eyes and mouth when she had been awake. Her chest rose and fell at an even pace, in time with the soft sighs of her breath. That she was sleeping so deeply led him to think that there may have been something stronger than Tylenol in the first aid kit. He would not bother to go see what it was, trusting Milla to have taken a responsible dose. 

There was a subtle curve to her lips, as though the dream she was having was so nice that it affected her physical self’s facial expression. Instantly he was reminded of that sweet, unexpected smile she had given him back at the site of the explosion. From there, the sensory memories of that moment came flooding back to him, hitting him as hard as the blast had. He bent forward, arm outstretched, the need to touch her again flaring up within him. He wanted very much to brush the hair on her cheek away, to press his fingertips against the pulse point on her throat, run his hand over the curve of her hip…

Sasha snatched his hand away, horrified by the direction his thoughts had taken. He grit his teeth, applying the same pressure mentally to smother his desire down. _It has been a very long day,_ he reasoned as he hurriedly turned away from the bed, going over to the small couch next to it. _Exhaustion is affecting my professionalism negatively. Sleeping will remedy it._

He sank down onto the couch, the cushions sinking inward with his weight. Placing his elbow on the armrest, and his chin in his hand, he considered his sleeping arrangement. Resting for an extended period of time on this piece of furniture was not appealing in the least. It’s cushions were stiff, the frame was too short for his body, and he predicted that parts of him- his back or his neck, probably- would resent him for his decision to to use it as a bed. But he simply could not crawl in next to Milla, even if she weren’t taking up the majority of the space. They’d shared a bed on previous occasions when required and there had been no issue, but tonight was different. Heat pooled in his lower belly, simmering there despite his attempts to cool himself down with rationality. He could not risk Milla picking up on that, on any of the unwanted feelings he’d been having since the mission ended. 

Sighing, he resigned himself to a long, uncomfortable night. He cast a glance at his partner's peacefully sleeping form. _I know what you did,_ he thought to her accusingly, not caring if she could hear him in her dream. 

Milla made a noise in her sleep. To Sasha, it sounded like a laugh. 

* * *

Sasha found himself back at the crumbling remains of the Inoxia Collective’s Kansas base, laying among a pile of rubble underneath a steel gray sky. He did not ask himself how he came to be there when mere seconds ago he had been trying to find a comfortable position on a cheap, poorly-made loveseat. Nor was he hit with the usual emotions- confusion and alarm- that would usually accompany such a bizarre and sudden warp to a location he did not particularly want to visit again. There was a more pressing matter on his mind- or, rather, in his lap. 

Milla was right there before him, sitting in roughly the same position she had hours before. She was strangely vivid against the backdrop of blurry half-formed objects and the endless gray expanse that surrounded them. How he could see her so clearly without his glasses (for they were nowhere to be found) was a mystery he did not care to solve. His normally weak eyes could make out more of her than they ever had before- every fold and tear in her clothing, every speck of dust and bead of sweat on her skin, the skewed angle of her blast-blown bangs and her eyes, more green and luminous than he could ever recall seeing them. 

The same paralysis that held him in its grasp did not seem to be affecting her, for she was making small, light motions. Her palms were flat on his chest, sliding up and down and applying enough pressure so that the wool of his sweater touched down on his skin as her hands passed over. Her thighs, bracketing his hips, squeezed inward, not too tightly, but enough to promise significant strength. Her own hips were rocking gently, moving in time with her hands. The shifts were slight, but each one sent a small shock through him, as her crotch was above his own, and though he could not see exactly what was going on underneath the dress, he knew that she was purposely rubbing down on his cock, which was beginning to stir. 

She was smiling at him, though not in the way she had smiled the last time they had been in this position, or in any way that she had before. There was a devious slant to it, a slight bearing of her teeth, which, combined with the glint in her eyes, made him think that she had plans for him, plans that involved her using him in any way that she pleased. He curled his palms into fists, as though the harsh scrape of the ground on his knuckles would suppress the excitement the thought gave him. It was already running through his veins like electricity though, the current flowing too fast to be stopped. 

“Milla.” He meant to rebuke her for her extremely unprofessional behavior, but her name came out like a desperate plea for what could either be mercy or more. As such, it only made her laugh, low and throaty and not at all like the lively, music-like manner in which she normally laughed. Sasha swallowed and tried again. “Milla,” he repeated, glad that his voice did not crack, “You…” Whatever words came next dissolved into a sharp gasp when she suddenly ground herself down against his length. A sensation of pure pleasure ran down his leg all the way to his toes. 

Milla looked down and cocked her head to the side, gauging the effect she was having on him. She jerked her hips forward, running her cunt along his clothed erection, already at half-mast and eliciting another gasp from him. There must have been something satisfying in it for her, for she repeated the action twice more, her tongue peeking out to wet her lips and a light flush blooming high on her cheekbones. 

Sasha bit his lip, not wanting to cry out but having a very difficult time keeping himself from doing so. “Milla, please…” he hissed. His hands jerked upward, but he forced them back down before they could land anywhere on her person. “Please,” he begged, though for what, he did not know. Or maybe he did and just could not bring himself to admit it, even here and now. 

What he did know was that stopping was definitely not what he wanted her to do. But that was exactly what Milla did, pausing her body mid-rock. His body cried out immediately at the loss of stimulation, his hips jutting upward in order to regain it. She squeezed her thighs hard, preventing any further attempts to get things going again. All he had left was the weight of her on his dick to keep the slow pulse of arousal going; the cruelest sort of teasing she could put him through. 

Moving with an almost aching slowness, Milla drew her gaze back up to his, the motion of her neck deliberate, like she was trying to trace a line in the air with her nose. Her eyes locked onto his, pupils near black and aglow with arousal. His breath caught in his throat, for the expression on her lovely face- a mix of sexual excitement and cat-like mischievousness- was yet another one new to him, fascinating him just as all of the other previously-unseen variations of her expression had been. 

She tilted her head to the side, scrutinizing him with a slight disapproval, as though she could overhear the concern and confusion crowding into his head. Her right hand began floated upward, forging a delicate path from his chest to his collar, up his neck and past his chin to his lips, where it finally stopped. The graze of her index finger, a touch so light it was a mere brush of sensation, was to him a silent rebuke for thinking too much and too hard. _Just relax_ , she seemed to say without words as she ran her fingers back and forth along his bottom lip. Sasha was not sure if he could do that. The situation was strange and surreal but also so thrilling that he could not bear to put a stop to it. He broke free of his paralysis and took her hand in his, brought it to his mouth and kissed it _I’ll try,_ he thought to her as he met her eyes, _but no promises._

That must have been good enough for her, for her expression softened. Gently, Milla broke free of his grasp and began shrugging off her dark, heavy jacket, revealing one clashingly colored shoulder and then the other. It made for a rather conservative striptease, since she was still fully clothed underneath of it, but what she wore clung to every curve and contour of her body. The strain of her nipples against the fabric, the low dip of the collar and the tight fit over her hips left just enough to his imagination to make it seem more erotic than if she had simply been naked. 

Sasha could only sit there and drink her in with his eyes, his head full of so many desires that he could not focus on which one he wanted to indulge in first. Milla freed her arm from the remaining sleeve and then tossed the jacket away to the side. It faded out of existence before it even touched the ground, like the universe itself was trying to prevent her from covering up again. 

That, of all things, was what clued Sasha into the truth of his situation. _Ah, so this is a dream. That is why I am back here and why Milla is behaving so...well, like this._ Disappointment tugged at him at first, but it gave way to relief soon enough. _One has less control over one’s actions while in a dream state, hence why I am allowing this to happen._ He raised himself up on his elbows and experimentally thrust his cock upwards, brushing against Milla, the sound resulting from that move both surprised and delighted. _I may do as I wish here, for it is all happening within the confines of my own head._ If there was a flaw in that logic, he did not bother trying to find it; he would wait until after he woke up to begin analyzing things. 

Sasha fixed his gaze upon Milla, emboldened now that he knew that there would be no consequences to his actions. “Take the dress off,” he ordered. 

“No,” Milla answered. She then shoved him to the ground. 

“Hm,” Sasha said contemplatively as he fell backwards. That had been the first thing that Dream Milla had said aloud to him, and he found it interesting and amusing that it would be a refusal of a command. He could easily envision Real-World Milla responding the same way. _Best not to think of her in this context._ “Take the dress off...please?” he asked, attempting a more polite entreaty. 

Milla put her hands on her hips and shook her head, sighing the sigh of a mother disappointed by her unruly child. “You lay there and tell me to do things for you,” she said with that slightly exasperated tone she used whenever he did or said something that stuck her as foolish. “But what have you done for me? Nothing.” She poked him in the chest to emphasize her point. “Darling, you’re not pulling your weight here. I’m the one doing all of the work.” 

Sasha had not expected have one of his deeply hidden anxieties brought up in what he had assumed to be nothing more than a sex dream. As such, he was unprepared for the direct hit to a very sensitive part of his psyche. Wounded, he rose up in defense of himself. “Well, what do you want me to do?” he snapped peevishly, sitting up again. “This is a highly unusual situation for me.” 

Milla rolled her eyes and pushed him back down again. “Sweetheart,” she began with a sweetness that bordered on sarcastic, “Isn’t it obvious? I want some reciprocation.” 

That was the answer Sasha had expected to hear, and yet it still set his nerves on edge. Reciprocation- did she just mean sexually? Or was this his mind’s way of working out an internal issue that he’d been repressing, via erotic fantasy? There had always been this sense that he was not as good of a friend to Milla as she was to him. At times, he noticed dissatisfaction on her part on occasions where she expected more verbal confirmation of his respect and regard for her, or when he flinched away from her touch. This perceived inadequacy caused him no small amount of disquiet, but he never brought it up, fearing where it could potentially lead. 

“I-” he cut himself off, looking away and letting his gaze fall to where the hem of her dress bunched up over her thighs. “I do not know how competently I can do that,” he admitted, taking the hem and rubbing it between his fingers. “Or if it is wise to try.” It felt like he was acknowledging something that had previously gone ignored by making the statement; a cowardly facet of himself that he had tried to shove into one of his mental shoe boxes. 

Milla covered her fingers with her hand, stilling them. “Even here?” she asked as she entwined her fingers with his. Her skin was soft and warm, a balm for the nervousness cutting into him. “In your own mind?” She chuckled at his absurdity, the sound vibrating through her body. “Darling, what are you so afraid of?”

“Losing control,” he replied, oddly open about his neurosis. Even as he said it, though, he realized that the answer was sort of stupid. Was he not known for the iron control he exerted over his thoughts and emotions? Were his mental shields not praised by his colleagues and foes alike? Was it not the reason that he’d been partnered up with Milla to begin with? Sasha decided right then and there to treat this dream not as a lewd romp with underlying psychological undertones, but as a test of his mental control over his fears and anxieties. Passing this test would give him better insight into his relationship with Milla, perhaps even enlightening him on how to handle those instances where she asked for more than he was able to give. 

Bolstered by his resolve to ace this test, he grasped Milla (not the Real Milla, he assured himself, just an anima his mind had created for the purpose of this trial) by the wrist and pulled her down, while at the same time sitting up. Their lips met in the middle, a crash that had their noses smashing and their teeth clicking together. Their initial clumsiness gave way once a suitable rhythm was found, their tongues sliding and swirling together, wet and slick. The taste of her was all citrusy sweetness, a bit like those Daiquiris and Margaritas she was so fond of, strangely intense in this non-reality. She began to suck on his tongue, and that was when the blood drained so fast from his head to his erection that he began to feel dizzy. 

Sasha could not abide failing his test so soon after starting it. He broke the kiss, shook his light-headedness off, and went back in for another one once he had recovered.This time he put his hands to work, setting them onto her hips and feeling the flesh of her fill his palms as his fingers dug themselves in. They slid up an inch, in the place where waist curved into hip, letting his thumbs press into her lower belly. From there the path his hands took diverged, the left one traveling upward to roam over her side as the right went to her lower back. Her strong, supple body provided an amazing contrast of tactile stimulation. The silky satin was cool on his fingertips, but heat radiated off the skin underneath. There was plenty for him to explore, taunt abdominal muscle, ridges of ribs, and the hard nub of her nipple occupied his left hand, while his right busied itself with her firm, soft ass.

Above him, Milla voiced her enjoyment of his ministrations with sighs and moans, breathing out little words of encouragement whenever he did something she really liked. She was not doing much with her own hands; again her palms were flat on his chest, moving about in an abstract way, but she was grinding herself down on his rapidly hardening cock, circling over him in a way that became more erratic as he discovered more and more of her erogenous zones. Sasha noticed that rough treatment elicited louder, more ragged noises, so he took that to mean that he did not need to hold back. He raked his fingernails down her stomach so that she would feel the rough scrap of them on her skin, blunted only by her dress’ thin fabric. He cupped one of her ass cheeks and massaged into the muscle, indulging in the incredible feel of it before squeezing so tightly that he was sure the red marks he left on her flesh would bear his fingerprints. At the same time he brought his other hand back to her breasts and began pinching and teasing her nipples, switching the focus of his attention when it seemed like one had enough. 

The only place that he did not attempt to touch was between her legs, and that was because she gave him no room to do so, as she was doing her best to rub her clitoris directly onto the crotch of his slacks. He helped her along by thrusting upward, giving her more contact. _This is not so difficult,_ he thought, a hint of smugness slithering onto his flushed face. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to still clothed breast, sucking at her nipple through the satin. His dick was fully erect now, straining uncomfortably against his fly, but he believed that he still had control over himself; he was not mauling at her like some kind of very horny animal. He was passing his test, and with more ease than he had expected- perhaps it was now time to challenge himself. 

He detached his lips from her breast, removed his hand from her bottom and grasped the edges of her collar. With one yank he tore it down the middle, the tear extending down to her navel, the sound of ripping fabric sending a rush of excitement all through him. Her upper body was now exposed to his gaze; her breasts small and perky, the dark brown nipples tight and reddened by the harsh treatment they had received from his hand and mouth. A moment passed in which Sasha and Milla both simply admired them, the latter bringing a hand up to caress the swollen peaks. “How’s that,” Sasha said once he regained control of his vocal chords, “ for reciprocation?” 

Milla’s lips curved as she regarded her breasts with the same pride a teacher would have for a student’s well-done project. “It’s good, baby,” she said, the praise going straight to Sasha’s head. “You’re such a good boy, darling.” Her hand dropped from her breast, right onto where his cock was pitching an impressive tent in his slacks. “I think,” she said as she groped him through the fabric, her smile growing wider as his breath came out in ragged pants, “that you deserve a reward.” 

She snapped open his fly and pulled the zipper down, his dick immediately springing free of its confines. He hissed, relieved at no longer being trapped by his own clothing and then let out an embarrassing whimper when her hand wrapped around his length. Her palm was warm, damp with sweat, and her grip was just right; neither too tight nor too lax. She gave him a few tugs, beginning by squeezing the base, moving quickly up the shaft, and then swirling her thumb right over the slit once she got to the head. 

It was exactly the way he liked it, and it had the effect of arousing more than just...well, arousal. “How is it that, ah-” He groaned when her thumb pressed against the sensitive underside of the head. “How do you know how to do that…” He gestured down as her hand slid back down his cock. “Just how I like it?” His masturbatory habits weren’t exactly water-cooler conversation. 

Milla raised her eyebrow at him. “Why wouldn’t I know? This is your dream.” 

“Oh, right.” It appeared that his propensity for asking idiotic questions had followed him into his mental world. “Carry on, then,” he said brusquely, trying to hide his embarrassment. 

  
“Carry on, then,” she repeated, rolling her eyes in a very Milla-like way. That this figure his mind had conjured up should look and act so much like her counterpart was probably something he should be concerned about. Later, maybe, when she wasn’t hovering over his erection, the tip of it touching her slick opening. 

Sasha watched as his cock disappeared underneath her dress, tight wet heat surrounding him inch by agonizing inch. He set his hands onto her hips, more to give them something to occupy themselves with than to speed up her pace. When she was fully seated on him she paused, as though to allow him a moment to savor the way the walls of her cunt squeezed around him. The incredible sensation clouded his head with ecstasy, and nearly finishing him off right then and there. He bit his lip, reminding himself that coming the second he was inside of her likely constituted a failing grade. _But how,_ he pondered as she began bouncing on top of him, _exactly do I go about passing? What are the parameters of this test?_

“I know, ah, that you’re thinking,” Milla said, her voice thick with pleasure. She came down at an angle that hit a secret, euphoric spot spot, prefacing her next statement with a low, throaty moan. “Mmm, darling, you need to stop doing that.” 

Sasha refused to stop thinking, because he knew that if he did, he would lose all control and spend himself at a humiliatingly early point. As Milla moved, aided by him occasionally lifting her and pulling her back down, he reasoned out the rules of his test. _If finishing prematurely constitutes a failure, then it stands to reason that bringing her to orgasm first means that I pass._ That was no problem. He was by no means a world-class lover, but he’d had a few satisfactory affairs before and a good grasp of anatomy- surely that gave him enough knowledge to get Milla off. 

A goal now in mind, he took his right hand off of her hip and glided it down, his destination her clitoris. She snatched his wrist before he could get under her dress. “No,” she said, clutching him in a way that made twisting free impossible. 

Sasha blinked in confusion, unsure of why his advances were being refused. “No?” he repeated, questioning. 

Milla shook her head. “No.” She was still impaling herself on his cock as she held his wrist, taking his arm up and down with her a small distance as she moved. “Not there.” 

Sasha furrowed his brows, baffled by the strange direction that their tryst was taking. The pressure was mounting within him. He felt very close to the edge and did not know how much longer he could keep up with her. “Where, then?” he inquired. 

Milla said nothing. She stopped, mercifully giving Sasha some time to recover, and drew his hand down to the left, so that his arm stretched diagonally over himself. His hand was placed on a spot on her thigh an inch or so below the hem of her dress. 

Sasha sat up a bit more, so that the awkward position would not put a strain on his shoulder (a purely psychological move, since it wasn’t like he could pull a muscle here). “Here?” He didn’t understand why Milla wanted him to touch her there when caressing her cunt would give her more direct pleasure. 

Sasha shrugged and did as requested, putting the whole thing down as a quirk of dream logic. He began to massage the spot, encouraged by the way her body seemed to shudder with bliss, her euphoria coming off of her in waves. “Just like that, darling! Please, don’t stop!” she begged.

He wanted to hear more of her begging like that; it was an intoxicant for his ears. He began to knead her harder and kept his eyes locked onto her face, fascinated by the small shifts in her expression. Eyes closing as though the pleasure was weighing them down, lips parting to let forth gasps and pleas, cheeks flushing and small beads of sweat pouring down her forehead. _Is this,_ he wondered as he turned his attention to her breasts, bouncing with the movements of her hips, _what the real Milla looks like when she comes?_

The moment he finished the thought he felt something under his palm split, then an odd, sticky wetness. Sasha glanced down and was horrified to see blood seeping out from under his hand. “Milla!” he shouted, alarmed, as he pulled his hand away, revealing a slender red line. “You’re hurt!” 

Milla regarded him with a sort of baffled amusement, as though unsure of why he was so alarmed. “Of course I’m hurt, darling,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’ve always been hurt. You knew that.” 

Sasha shook his head, denying that he knew anything of the sort. He was certain that cut had not been there at the beginning; he would have noticed it. “We must stop this now,” he said, pulling his hand as far from him as he could. He desperately wanted to clean it off, but there was no way to do that without making more of a mess. “If we keep going like this, things will get worse.”

“Or they might get better.” Milla placed her fingers over Sasha’s mouth before he could protest further. “Darling,” she said entreatingly. “I felt so much better when you were touching me. It only hurt when you pulled away.” A soft disappointment hovered in the corners of her eyes. “Are you that afraid of a little pain? Of a little mess?” 

“I…” His emotions were at war with each other, rationality put to margins of the battlefield. Disgust, fear and anxiety formed the side that wanted to reject Milla and her frightening wound, while affection, guilt, and concern all desired to help Milla in any way possible, despite the personal toll it might take on him. “I don’t know if I’m capable of healing you, Milla,” he said honestly, glancing down at her cut. Had it gotten longer? Was it bleeding more profusely? He could not tell. “This is way outside of my experience. I could very well make things worse.” 

“I’m not asking you to heal me, Sasha,” Milla said, rocking her hips a little. “I just want you to get closer to me. You make me better.” 

One could argue that they were close enough with their bodies literally being joined. Sasha decided it would be wiser not to argue that point. “I...alright,” he conceded, gingerly bringing his hand back to her thigh. “I’ll try. Only because I care for you so much.” The honest statement left him feeling vulnerable, but also sent a light thrill to his heart. 

“I know,” Milla said, running her fingers affectionately through his hair. “Thank you.” 

The gratitude in her tone made his stomach flutter, though he could not tell if it was nervousness or tenderness that caused it. He let his palm hover over the cut, but then went with a more cautious approach by placing his index finger onto the slit. The pad of his fingertip dipped inward as he carefully began sliding it from right to left, and then back. “How is that?” 

“That’s good,” she replied, sighing. There was nothing sexual in her tone, or in the way her features went slack. It seemed that they gone to an intimacy past sex. 

Sasha nodded. “It doesn’t hurt?” 

“No, keep going.” 

Sasha did just that, continuing to move his finger over the wound, aided by blood. He did not find the task particularly enjoyable- his mind roared against the unsanitary nature of the act, and the gruesome sight made him grit his teeth against his discomfort- but her words of encouragement kept him at it, and he even went so far as to add his middle finger into the mix. Milla rewarded him by starting her movements up again, not quite as forcefully as before, but enough to bring his flagging erection back to life. 

Time passed the way it does in dreams, with her rolling her hips atop him as he caressed her wound over and over. Soft orgiastic pulses traveled through his body, distracting him from the disturbing way his fingers seemed to sink deeper into the injured flesh with every swipe. By the time he noticed, he was submerged to the knuckle. “Ach, Milla,” Sasha said, wincing at the sight. He scissored his fingers experimentally and saw the movement under her skin. “I think I’m in too deep.” 

“Hmm?” Milla opened her eyes. “That’s fine. It’s supposed to happen like that.” 

Sasha looked at her skeptically. “Is it?” he asked, pulling out a little. “It looks wrong. There’s no way that I’m not hurting you.” 

Milla sighed. “You aren’t.” But she did not try to stop him when he took his fingers all the way out. 

The squelch made Sasha cringe. He kept his bloody hand hovering over the ground. “I’m sorry, Milla,” he said, flexing his fingers to flick some of the blood away. “That is about as much as I can give you.” 

Milla was not angered or saddened by this, as he expected. Instead she smiled at him warmly and praised his efforts. “You did great, darling. I know it wasn’t easy for you. But look! You’ve made it so much better!” 

“I have?” It did appear that the cut had sealed itself up somewhat, but it was hard to know for sure with all of the blood obscuring the view. “Hmm.” 

Milla set her hands on his shoulders, fingers creeping inward towards the collar of his turtleneck. “Um,” he said when she began pulling at it. “What are you doing?” 

The smile never left her face. “It’s your turn now,” she said the moment before tearing his sweater straight down the middle. 

“But I’m not injured!” Sasha insisted, stunned that she would so casually destroy one of his favorite articles of clothing. 

“Yes you are,” Milla countered, pointing at his chest. 

To his horror, she was right. There was a very long wound splitting his torso, extending down from his pecs to his naval. “What…” His mouth dropped open in shock, unable to believe that he could suffer such an injury without knowing it. “What is this?” It looked strange; there didn’t seem to be anything within him, no blood spilling out or internal organs peeking through despite its size. The skin at the border appeared to be scarified, implying that it had not been inflicted recently. “When did this happen?” 

“Oh sweetie.” Milla leaned forward kissing him on the forehead. “It’s been there for a very long time.” She tipped his head up, began murmuring against his lips. “But don’t worry. I can make it better.” 

Then she plunged her hand right inside. 

* * *

  
Sasha awoke mid-fall, just time to feel the impact of his shoulder hitting the floor, the carpet doing little to muffle the thump. Wide awake, he wasted little time gaining his bearings and made a beeline straight for the bathroom, favoring speed over stealth. Once inside he immediately removed his sweater and tossed it onto the floor with an uncharacteristic carelessness. 

He went straight to the sink and was relieved to see himself with no new wound dividing his chest in half; just the old scars that he was used to. His reflection showed him a blurry man in a very sorry state, one with a reddened, sweaty face, hair plastered to his forehead, and bloodshot eyes straining to see without his glasses. 

A more embarrassing discovery came in the form of his open fly, his still half-hard dick sticking out. Dammit, he must have unbuttoned his slacks as he had slept, most likely through telekinesis( his mind unconsciously working to make his body more comfortable). _Ridiculous,_ he thought as he tucked himself back into his boxers, _that’s the sort of thing teenage boys do, not adults._

Once that was done he opened the bathroom door a crack and peeked out. Sasha glanced at his partner long enough to confirm that she was still sleeping before closing it as quietly as he could. He let out a soft sigh, glad that Milla had not witnessed him scrambling to the bathroom in such an undignified manner. He sank down on the toilet seat and began rifling through his pockets, hoping that he’d find a stray cigarette in one of them. No such luck- he would have to find some other way to soothe his rattled nerves. 

Bowing his head forward, he covered his face with his hands, pressing his fingers into his eyes as he tried to calm himself down. His fingers traveled upward into his hair, combing through unpleasantly damp strands. Just as well, since he was about to take a very frigid shower. Without getting up, he turned the knob onto the coldest setting.

Sasha spent a few minutes just sitting there, listening to the water splatter against the tub, focusing in on the sound as though it could drown out the memories of the moans, sighs, and other, more physical noises from his dream that still echoed in his mind. Then he straightened himself up, inhaled and exhaled the way he would if he’d actually had a cigarette in hand. He would not bother analyzing the dream, he decided. There was no need; it could simply be put down to the close-call he and Milla had earlier in the day. What else would explain the distressing combination of sexual intimacy and gruesome imagery?

As he rose to remove his clothes, a small part of him cried out against the simplification. _You have had plenty of near-death experiences before today,_ it pointed out, _and you did not have a depraved sex-nightmare before this one. What’s different?_

In no mood to argue with himself, Sasha stepped into the freezing shower and let the water handle two arduous tasks: wilting what remained of his erection and shutting that very annoying, very pedantic part of himself right up. Hissing as the cold drops assaulted his skin, he reassured himself that this was a one-off thing, merely a freak psychological accident; and that such a dream should involve a close friend was not something worth getting worked up over. 

Unfortunately, he seemed unable to convince himself of this, for thoughts of the dream and what it could mean continued to plague him throughout the drive back to the Motherlobe. It put him and Milla both in a very bad mood, for it made him very agitated and distracted, which in turn drove her out of her wits.

“What’s wrong with you?” she snapped after he missed the exit they were supposed to take for the third time, her patience having run out. 

Sasha sighed as he made a very illegal u-turn on the thankfully empty highway. “Nothing,” he said shortly, “I did not sleep well last night.” 

Milla regarded him with more sympathy. “Do you want me to drive?” she asked.

Sasha shook his head. It was true that poor sleep had contributed to his bad driving, but it was not the real reason he had missed the exit again. Seconds ago, he had seen Milla idly toying with the bandage, fingers plucking at the white gauze. “Does your leg hurt?” he asked.

“Hm. A little,” she admitted. 

“Well, stop touching it, then,” Sasha said before he could think better of it. “Take another pill.” 

The rest of the ride was spent in silence. 

  
  



End file.
